


Gunning Toward The Future

by wearyeyebrow



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: But for some reason it remains, Conflict, F/M, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I keep trying to remove the f/m rating, Long-Term Relationship(s), Racism, Slice of Life, gender-neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearyeyebrow/pseuds/wearyeyebrow
Summary: You just wanted a good time, a chance to relax together. This wasn't part of the plan. And now you have to deal with the aftermath.





	

They’re young and angry teenagers, too full of themselves, as they back Sans against an empty Target Warehouse. Faded denim, low risers. A part of the conglomerate masses, an endless sea of voices.

‘You fuckin’ freaks of nature – whatcha doin,’ dead guy walking?’

‘Oh he ain’t dead yet Jimmy,’ an awkward boy, neck too big for his head, stretches his shoulder out. It’s almost comical. Sans swears he’s seen this exact scenario on an episode of Happy Days. They’re closing in.

He looks unperturbed. Hands still in his pockets, signature grin plastered out of habit.

‘c’mon guys, throw me a bone here. you walk, i walk, and we pretend this didn’t go down, yeah?’

‘nice try, you rotting corpse.’

‘i’m a skeleton.’

‘Keep talking, I dare you.’ Denim pulls out black steel, bronze bullets in a pistol; probably his Dad’s. ‘Don’t think I won’t use this, _rotting corpse._ ’

This was supposed to be a nice day. It's sunny out. You were going to meet at the trailhead after work. But instead, you’re just in time to catch a glimpse of Sans being pursued.

You’re scared shitless from your vantage point. None of them know you’re here. You don’t want go out there. You want to call the police, but you know that'd be an exercise of futility. He cocks his gun, and your throat closes.

Fucking hell.

‘Oi!’ You bark.

They spin around, all but denim-boy, who keeps his eyes glued on Sans.

‘The fuck do you want lady? We’re busy showin’ this little guy a good time.’

‘Uhuh. Sure.’ You put a hand on your hip in false bravado. ‘And the gun’s fake, right?’

The kid snorts, spit hitting the pavement. ‘What are you, some kinda freak? You throw it in with these shits?’

You’re in way over your head. You’re weak from long office hours. What are you supposed to do? You breathe out.

‘Don’t fuckin’ insult me kid. They’re scum, and you know it. But that’s not my problem. My problem is that your friend is a minor. I know you haven’t got a permit. Hand over the gun or I’m calling the cops.’

The kid in denim turns around, pivoting until the gun is pointed straight at you. ‘Keep an eye on him,’ he gestures to his buddies.

Well. This is unfortunate.

Your hands are clammy. ‘Don’t be dumb kid. You’re gonna get caught if you shoot me. Wanna spend life getting fucked in the ass by a guy named Tina? Didn’t think so. Get out of here and I’ll give you a five-minute head start before calling the cops.’

You can see some of them deliberate. You can see fear in their eyes, the beginnings of doubt. The gears of their young minds turn, weighing the possibilities. ‘Or,’ he snarls, ‘you could leave us the fuck alone and pretend you didn’t see anything.’

‘Nope. Sorry. Can’t do that.’ You reach for straws, try and find a story that they'll believe. Something that'll make them think you're sincere.

‘…My brother blew his head off, see. It’s a touchy subject for me. Vowed I’d never leave a kid alone with a firearm. So, you either shoot me, hand me the gun, or take the gun and leave. I’ve got nothing to lose. But you’re young, you’re smart. Make the right choice.’

You can see some of his buddies fall back. His support dwindles.

So, he takes option D. Before you have time to flinch he chucks the gun at you, hitting you square in the face. It doesn’t hit hard enough to take you out. He takes off running like he has ants in his pants, but not before spitting at you.

Guess the gun wasn’t his Dad’s, you muse. Might be stolen.

These thoughts run through your head at a surprisingly calm pace. You crouch down to unload the gun. There’s one bullet. Wow. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh or cry.

The adrenaline in your system numbs you to the situation.

You glance over at Sans and he’s gone. Not a second later you get a text.

Received 4:42pm: i’ll follow you back to your place.

Sent 4:42pm: Good idea.

You pick up your bag, abandoned next to a telephone pole, and start walking. You could catch a cab or a bus, but then he couldn’t follow you. You’d rather he did.

Your face throbs, and as you pass other adults heading home from work, you can feel their eyes on you. It’s probably starting to bruise.

You’ll have to turn the gun into the police. Say you found it when going for a walk through the city. It’ll explain your fingerprints. Or maybe you can actually tell them what happened. Might get them off of your back. Who knows?

You plan strategically. What will you do if they find out where you live? Or what if they find Sans again? Yeah they’re inexperienced, stupid kids. But what about next time? You got lucky. You feel a headache coming on, from the blow or stress, you’re not sure.

You’re surprised when you reach your front door – when had that happened? You put the key in the lock and twist, pulling the door open then shut. You’re inside, and you lock it again, deadbolt included. You breathe out softly at the quiet of your apartment, just as you left it this morning.

No sooner do you set your bag down that you hear a familiar and comforting crackling sound. You set your shoes aside, lift up your head, and there he is standing in front of you.

There’s a beat of silence as you look at each other.

You break it. ‘Everything feels surreal.’

‘surreal, huh?’

‘Yeah, like… like, did that actually happen? Or was it all an elaborate daydream?’

‘that shiner on your cheek makes it the former.’

‘Yeah,’ you touch it and make a face. ‘Gonna go get some peas for it.’

‘peas?’

‘Much better than ice, as an icepack.’

He pads after you and waits as you snag a bag. You sit at the counter, icepack in hand. Your legs feel heavy, and slow.

He sits next to you.

‘What happened?’ You probe.

‘was walking to the trailhead when i see some kids coming my way, no one else around. wouldn’t of thought much of it, but i knew that look on his face, the main kid. i figured i could take shelter in the warehouse. but there were more of them than i thought there were. kid pulls out a gun and… well, you know the rest.’ He picks at a loose thread.

You sigh. ‘Maybe it’s not worth asking, but why didn’t you just take a shortcut out of there?’

‘didn’t wanna disappear and leave you alone with those guys. and by the time they had me in a corner, it would’ve taken too long to dematerialize. would’ve shot me as soon as they realized i was doing something with magic.’

He’s not wrong.

Another beat of silence.

‘_____?’

‘Yeah?’

‘i’m going to say something, and you’re probably not going to like it.’

You nod. ‘Okay, go for it.’

‘i… that wasn’t a good idea.’

‘I know.’

‘you’d die. one hit, and it’s over.’

‘That’s only if they hit a vital. I’ve still got a better chance.’

He sighs, ‘_____ please, just –’

‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop being difficult.’

‘no, that’s not what i...’ he stares pensively across the room and holds his head in his hands, ‘does it hurt?’

‘A little, but it’ll fade in about a week or two.’ You can feel the adrenaline start to wear off, leaving you tired and drained, and strangely disembodied, as if reality is on the other side of a window pane.

‘you don’t think you’ve got a concussion, do you? maybe you should see somebody.’

‘I don't know. I'll call the clinic in a bit. Just wanna sit for a while.’

‘is your first aid kit in the medicine cabinet?’

‘Yeah, top right I think.’

He stands to snag it, his countenance indifferent.

You are lonely in front of him. Unspoken words that you can’t grasp hang on the tip of your tongue. He finishes with the rubbing alcohol, carefully wiping away the excess with a cloth.

‘Sans, where am I?’

‘in your apartment.’

‘Where are you?’

‘in your apartment, too.’

He's not wrong, but he's not entirely right. There's an ocean between you of something you can't name; it's suffocating, like old oatmeal. ‘Why aren't we talking about it?’

He looks past you. 'we won't like it.’

‘Yeah, probably.’

‘i didn’t actually say what i was going to, earlier.’

‘Then say it.’

He takes a step away from you, stares at the cloth in his hands, before wordlessly setting it on the counter.

‘Please.’

‘…don’t do shit like that _____. it was really fucking stupid. if he hadn’t been a kid you’d be dead, and i’d be standing over your corpse. is that what you want? or did you not consider your own mortality?’ There’s a deep rumble to his voice, an octave drop that you aren’t used to hearing.

And his words hurt worse than the bruise on your cheek, but that’s what you’ve been looking for. This is what you want. ‘So what was I supposed to do, just fucking stand there and watch him shoot you in the face? Watch you turn to dust – that’s what happens, isn’t it? You turn to dust in the wind, nothing left except your clothes. You can buy new fucking clothes.’ Your voice is a dry deadpan, an annoying lack of emotion, covering for your quivering anger.

‘i’ve got magic. you should’ve let me handle it instead of jumping in to save the day – hell, you could’ve got us both killed if you hadn’t come up with that ridiculous story.’

‘But I didn’t get us killed. You were cornered Sans. The odds weren’t stacked in your favor. What the hell did you expect me to do?’

‘not that.’

‘Okay fine, what would you do in my place then, huh? Would you just fucking stand there?’

‘of course not, but-’

‘But nothing, you would’ve done the same thing, or something similar; this relationship isn’t a one-way street. Don’t you dare fucking forget that.’

‘but i have magic! you don’t understand. you know i can do more. you know i can move on the offense if i’ve gotta.’

‘I know you don’t want to.’

‘that doesn’t fucking matter in a life or death situation.’

‘Correction – it matters when it’s your life, but it doesn’t when it’s mine. That’s hypocritical and you know it.’

‘i’m not – you’re, fucking hell, you don’t get it. i can’t because it’s– it’s-’

‘Don’t you think I feel the same way? You’re not the only one who feels, Sans! You’re not the only one who weighs the pros and cons with a gavel.’

‘you just – fuck, you don’t get it-‘

‘I know! Because you won’t tell me!’

‘i can’t!’ This is the closest he’s ever come to yelling.

‘I know that too, Sans.’ You slump forward, drained.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘so you know everything, then, huh? every little fucking thing.’

‘No,’ you sigh, anxiety creeping up on you, ‘I don’t know if this is going to happen again, if you’ll get shot tomorrow, or the next day – yeah, it could happen to either of us, but you’re the most likely candidate.’

‘if you don’t get involved, you’ll be even less likely to get shot.’

You’re exasperated. ‘I couldn’t.. I just couldn’t stand there, Sans. I…’

You’re furious. Angry at yourself, angry at the situation, angry at him. You feel tears of frustration well up in your eyes, catching on your eyelashes. You press a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose, trying to calm down.

You can practically feel regret rolling off of him in waves. He crumbles, ‘_____ i – shit i didn’t-‘

‘No, please,’ you laugh in spite of yourself, ‘We need this. You know we need this. Yell at me, scream at me: be honest with me. Don’t spare me this time.’

He stares at your cheek for a long moment. The air feels stale, the room feels too cold. He looks at your feet, perched on the bottom rung of the stool you’re sitting on.

‘what about all the things you’ll lose? all the danger you’re in? what about kids? we can’t do that. you’re already on thin ice with your folks. when will you be done with this?’

You’re quiet. The sound of your clock ticks overhead. ‘You’re in a lot more danger than I am, being a monster. Why risk being with me? Humans trapped your species underground for who knows how long. You’ve lost friends since being with me - when will you be done this, with us?’

‘…is this relationship worth it?’

The question settles in the air, seeping into the walls of your apartment, into your pores, in between his bones. You look at each other, searching.

‘Yes.’ You finally say.

He nods, ‘yeah, it is. i want it to be.’ The heater flips on, whirring quietly in the background. ‘why couldn’t you have been a monster?’

‘Why couldn’t you have been human?’

‘i don’t know.’

‘Me neither.’ You breathe out, trying to stop your eyes from watering. You look up at him and you see the same person you’ve known for eleven years, the partner you've had for three. You see all the experiences you’ve had together, all of the ones you’ve yet to have. You want to have them, you want to have a future together.

‘I love you, Sans.’ You reach up and brush your thumb over his cheekbone, brushing against the planes of his face, completely like and unlike your own.

‘love you too.’ He murmurs thickly, staring at your cheek.

You wordlessly slump together, a mass of tired limbs, monster, human, alien, whatever – it doesn’t matter right now. Your forgotten peas melt on the counter.

He presses his nasal cavity to your collar bone. ‘i haven’t even thanked you yet.’

You shake your head, ‘It was sheer luck that they bought it.’

‘but we’re alive.’

You laugh wryly, ‘Yeah, but not so much on the inside.’

‘should I sing one of those evanescence songs? is that meme appropriate right now?’ He jokes, weary.

‘Only if you can do it in Goofy’s voice.’

‘drat.’ He stands between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist.

‘Tomorrow is another day.’

‘thank god.’ He murmurs.

You seize opportunity. ‘I’d rather be thanking you, Sans.’

‘huh?’

‘It’s just,’ you pause for effect, ‘You’re the creator of my universe.’

His dull laughter is muffled against your jacket. ‘wow, that was bad.’

‘Wasn’t it? I’d give it an eight out of ten, a solid pickup line.’

‘Wouldn’t that also make it a… great, out of ten?’ If he had eyebrows he would be wiggling them.

You snort, ‘Some say laughter is the best medicine.’

He pulls back to look at you, ‘unless you have a concussion. i’ll call the doctor if you want.’

‘You won’t do the laundry but you’ll call the doctor for me.’

‘you don’t do laundry either.’

‘That’s neither here nor there.’

‘gotta be somewhere.’

‘Then let’s stay here for a while.’ You close your eyes, tired.

He rests his head on your shoulder. ‘here is good.’

**Author's Note:**

> A little more experimentation, don't mind me. My next post will include smut. Hope everyone has a good day! And thank you for reading.


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